Paper Thin Hotel
by picascribit
Summary: Sometimes life at Grimmauld Place is more than Severus can bear, especially when Remus and Sirius are staying in the next room. On those nights, he seeks to drown himself in the past. SSxRAB. Warning: voyeurism, polyjuice prostitution.


_**Note:**__ "Paper Thin Hotel" lyrics are the property of Leonard Cohen, and come from his 1977 album _Death fo a Ladies Man.

* * *

_The walls of this hotel are paper-thin._  
_Last night I heard you making love to him._  
_The struggle mouth to mouth and limb to limb,_  
_The grunt of unity when he came in._

_I stood there with my ear against the wall._  
_I was not seized by jealousy at all._  
_In fact a burden lifted from my soul._  
_I learned that love was out of my control..._

_... And I can't wait to tell you to your face_  
_And I can't wait for you to take my place._

He hates it - staying at this house. Twelve Grimmauld Place. But sometimes it is necessary, when he needs to sleep, or needs not to be found for a little while. Black is grudging enough about giving him a room, but as the house is the Order's headquarters, he has little say in the matter. That he has been given Regulus's old room - he just has to grit his teeth at that.

It is nearly impossible for him to sleep. Though nothing ever _happened_ between himself and Regulus in this room - Regulus's mother and father would never have allowed it, had they known - there is still the ghostly, residual scent of his dead lover hanging in the air.

But that is not the worst. No; the worst is when Lupin is there.

Severus can hear them in the next room. Every sigh, every laugh, every moan, every ecstatic cry is crystal clear through the thin walls of the house. He does not want to listen. And yet, night after night, he finds himself with his ear pressed to that wall, hungrily drinking in the sounds of passion.

He hates hearing them. Not that he is jealous - God, no! - the werewolf, his body a patchwork of twisted scars, fills him with nothing but revulsion, and his contempt for Black is absolute after being made the butt of seven years of cruel schoolboy indignities.

_If he didn't sound so damn much like Regs when he's being fucked, I could stand it,_ he thinks.

He unconsciously caresses the small leatherbound diary which is never far from him, its binding worn from seventeen years of similar treatment. There is nothing he can do. Their passion - Lupin's and Black's - is beyond his control, just as was Regulus's death. Severus lies on the bed, grinding his teeth as the sounds begin again.

_Can they not leave off for one bloody night?_

He wishes they knew what it feels like to be on this side of the wall, mocked by the nearness of something he will never have again. To wake alone, night after night, to those sounds, in this cold bed, in this damp house, hard and hopeless. Gray eyes haunt his dreams and he gets no rest.

When that happens, he goes. Not often; only when he cannot stand it any longer - no more than once or twice a year. When the starved and sleepless nights grind him down, and his balls ache, and his own potion-roughened, clammy hands can give him no relief, he goes to the wardrobe and takes down the brown cloak. It is the only garment he owns that is not black, but on nights like this, he prefers not to be recognised. He puts it on and checks the inner pocket for the tiny, wooden box concealed there. His most precious treasure.

The alley into which he Apparates has no lights. He knows it is safe. He steps onto a cobbled street strewn with litter. The buildings watch him with dark, empty windows - those that are not boarded up. The street is deserted, but still he hunches his shoulders against the prying eyes he imagines are always there, always watching.

There are better places, he knows, but he can pay for quality, or he can pay not to be recognised. He cannot afford both. The door opens at the tap of his wand. A plump, tired-looking woman in a green dress peers out suspiciously, then opens the door wider to allow him entry. She knows that look in a man's eyes. She takes his wand from him and stows it in a dusty cubbyhole for safekeeping.

"Young," he rasps at the woman in a low voice, keeping his head bowed, his face hidden. "But not a child." He has seen how young some of them are, and his stomach twists as he remembers gray eyes again. Regulus had not been more than fifteen, the first time.

He pays the Madam six galleons; four for the service, one for the potion, one for the Obliviation. She counts out the money and calls in a few boys for his approval. It does not matter what they look like, he knows, but even so, he takes his time in choosing.

"You," he decides at last, pointing to a slender youth with dark eyes and too-large ears.

The boy nods. "I'm -"

"No talking," he snaps. "And no names. Not until I give you one."

The boy bows his head and leads him down a dim corridor to a room lit only by a candle on the nightstand, and furnished with a single chair and a mattress on the bare floorboards. The boy points to the rings on the candle to indicate that he has an hour. Severus nods curtly. An hour is all he needs.

Drawing the cork from the flask the Madam has provided him, he carefully removes a single black hair from the tiny wooden box he carries, before returning it to his pocket. He adds the hair to the potion and passes it to the boy.

"Drink," he rasps, removing his cloak and draping it over the spindly chair.

The boy hesitates only a second. He knows what it is; this is not an unusual service, and he will be paid extra for it. He tilts his head back, making a face as he swallows the bittersweet potion.

The transformation begins almost at once. The ears shrink, the eyes lighten and grow a thick fringe of dark lashes, the hair lengthens and curls, the line of the jaw shifts subtly, and the lips become full and pink.

"Regs," Severus moans, moving forward and burying his hands in the black, silken hair of his dead lover.

He forces the face up into a kiss, tasting and biting until the perfect lips are tender and swollen. Then he steps back, letting his arms fall away reluctantly from the achingly-familiar body.

"Undress," he commands. "And then you may undress me."

The boy is obedient and knows his trade. His movements are provocative, the looks he casts the older man, alluring. It is all wrong.

"No." Severus grabs the boy by the shoulder and squeezes hard. One thing he always loved about Regulus was how easily his skin showed bruises. "Not like that."

He hates that he has to tell them how to be Regulus. It spoils the mood. He grits his teeth.

"I am going to fuck you," he says. "You _want_ me to fuck you. But it scares you. _I_ scare you."

He has always known it for the truth, but he hates himself, hearing the words out loud. Lily was never afraid of him, and he had never wanted it. She was bright and passionate and alive to his touch. He would have been scandalised at the thought of her sweet face on a whore.

The boy casts his eyes down as he finishes undressing, letting his robes puddle on the floor. Then he kneels before Severus, and with a quick, shy glance into his eyes, begins unfastening his robes, unbuttoning and unlacing deftly with those long, familiar fingers.

"Hurry," Severus hisses.

He is rock-hard from just looking at that bowed head and soft, slender neck, and he does not want to waste his hour on trivialities. He shrugs out of his robes as the boy tugs his trousers down to the floor for him to step out of.

They are both naked now, the boy on his knees before him, staring up expectantly with those wide, gray eyes, awaiting his command. His posture is so thoroughly submissive that Severus's cock gives a throb of longing. He tangles his fingers in the silken hair and yanks the boy's head roughly toward him, forcing those perfect, parted lips to accept his cock.

"Deeper," he mutters, and the boy takes him as deeply as he can, licking and sucking and swallowing. His mouth is hot in a world of cold, and his tongue is the best thing Severus has felt in months. He wishes it could go on forever, but he knows if he lets the boy keep at it much longer, he will finish all too soon, and he still has half of his hour left.

He pushes the boy away from him. It is time to explore the rest of that sweet body.

"On the bed," he says roughly.

The boy crawls onto the mattress, pale skin glowing in the candlelight. Severus kneels beside him.

"Lie down," he commands.

He runs his hands over the familiar body, feeling every curve and hollow, touching every secret place. The boy watches him all the while, with those huge eyes that once belonged to Regulus. Severus moves down the perfect young body, touching, tasting, breathing in the scent which Polyjuice Potion recreates only imperfectly. At least he smells young and male and aroused. That perfect little cock is standing high and proud, waiting for him.

"Mine," he growls, wrapping his fingers around it. "You're mine forever now, and no one else can have you. Say it."

"Yours," the boy breathes, arching against his hand. "Yours forever."

He strokes that sweet cock for a moment before taking his hand away. The boy watches him, waiting.

"Turn over. On your hands and knees."

There is a jar of sweet oil next to the mattress, just for this purpose, but Severus ignores it. Roughly, he shoves those supple, hairless thighs apart with his knees and settles himself between them. He runs a finger down between the parted buttocks, enjoying the boy's shiver of anticipation.

"Tell me you want it," he commands, pressing the tip of his cock hard against that perfect, puckered entry.

"Please," gasps the boy in Regulus's voice. "Please fuck me!"

Severus takes him hard and fast, exulting in the boy's cry of pain, as he buries himself in that narrow passage. He takes his time, drawing the pleasure out, pausing between thrusts to hear the whimpering and panting of the boy who feels like Regulus, clutched hot and tight around him. _So fucking good!_ He is not going to be able to last as long as he had hoped.

He collapses against the boy's back, pressing him to the mattress and thrusting hard and deep. He gropes between Regulus's body and the bedclothes until he finds that wonderful, hard little cock again, and matches the rhythm of his strokes with his hand.

"Come for me," he hisses. "I know you love this. I know you love being my whore."

He works the cock with his hand, feeling the boy thrusting back against him as his climax nears. When the boy gives a soft cry and Severus feels the hot wetness on the sheets, he growls and pushes the boy flat, sinking his teeth into the flesh of the bruised shoulder and fucking the ghost of Regulus Black with all his pain and rage and despair.

When the white heat of climax finds him, he jerks and bucks and calls out to a lover seventeen years dead, still feeling his hold, tight around his cock.

His hour is up. The boy begins to change back beneath him, and he pulls out of him hurriedly, backing away. Even by the dim candlelight, Severus can see the teethmarks on the boy's shoulder and the finger-shaped bruises where he held him, already fading away with the pale skin that bore them.

They dress in silence and leave the room together, Severus once more tugging the hood over her face. He watches with a look of boredom as the Madam Obliviates the boy, and thanks her curtly when she returns his wand to him.

He leaves, as empty as he arrived.


End file.
